How Ancient Mountains Crumble
by jennipher
Summary: Character study of how George copes with losing Fred and how Hermione Granger helps him along the way.


a/n: So this is my first "Geomione." I challenged myself to write a fic without any dialogue, and let me tell you - it's harder than it seems. I'm unsure about the beginning, like; did I portray the right emotion, was there enough emotion, was it over done, blah blah blah. But the rest I am proud of, even the last bit. Please keep in mind this fic center's more on George than the relationship of George and Hermione. While the relationship _is_ there, it's just not pronounced. So, please be kind and courteous and leave me a review, i'm so anxious! I don't own Harry Potter.

One more thing! I specifically wrote this oneshot to the song "Dead Wishes" by Chris Cornell. To fully understand the fic, listen to the song. I would really appreciate it if you listened to it while reading it, and then left me a review. I reread it while listening to it and I cried. Enjoy!

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 _Day One_

George lay in his bed at the Burrow, still in his clothes from the day before and an arm slung over his eyes, blocking the bright rays of the Sun. His breaths were shallow and his right hand was clenched in a fist. Being early May, it was still chilly in the morning sometimes – either that or wet – and he was freezing. Even under his boots and thick socks, his toes curled and the rest of his body tensed, fighting back the cold.

His heart beating a new, unfamiliar rhythm in his chest, George peaked out from under his arm to his twin's bed, hoping to see something –anything - to ease the ache in his empty chest.

He was sitting upright on the bed, both elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms. He was smiling. George choked out his name. He blinked and the one who left him behind was gone again.

Choking on air, eyes stinging, and heart in overdrive, George forced himself up, down the hall and into the bathroom. Turning the bath water all the way to boiling, he turned to toilet and emptied whatever bile was left in his stomach. Coughing, George blinked at the stringy yellow stuff before wiping his mouth with his hand and flushing. He stood up on shaky knees and turned to the mirror.

There was still dirt clinging to his cheeks and dust in his hair. He looked at his jacket and wasn't surprised to see small splotches of blood.

Fred's.

George yanked the jacket off. The shirt followed and buttons went flying. He took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. All he saw was Fred – same blue eyes, same starburst hair, and same lean physique. He wiped at his cheeks, his tears smearing the dirt.

Not good enough.

He covered the hole in his head and his heart skipped a beat. His lips caught somewhere between smiling and a firm line. George covered his eyes with his other hand, and slowly sank to his knees.

He wept, the steam rising from the bath to fog the mirror.

 _Day 15_

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was open again, and with it came a continuous stream of customers. Happy customers, downtrodden customers looking for a good laugh. Even if they didn't buy anything, George was always willing to tell a good joke. But with the customers came the knowledge that said customers knew he had lost a twin to the War. With that came the pity and the stares and the obligatory questions of how he's been. He always played it off – always said that Fred wouldn't want him to be such a sad sap.

It just so happened that George was indeed, a sad sap, when a random kid set off some of the Whizbangs by accident and wanting to make sure Fred saw it, George turned to his left and –

 _Oh._

 _One Year_

A muggle padlock remained on Fred's door with its key dangling from a thin piece of twine around his neck. It eventually became habit that George touch the key in any way possible when he was upset or he didn't know what to do. It was like asking Fred what to do when he got stuck making a product or where he put those damn socks he always seemed to loose. It was a constant reminder that his best friend and twin was always there for him. His brother had been lain to rest but their dreams, Fred's dream – George refused to let that die as well.

Every hour of every day, he devoted himself to developing new products, trying and never being able to finish old ones, and almost never seeing his family. Harry had been right – the world would need a good laugh and dammit, George would make good on their promise. He even made space for a makeshift study in the upstairs apartment so he could have his own place to retreat to and work. It had a small window above the desk and it was from there that George let time pass him by.

He found Fred through working in the shop. Whether it was stirring a potion, ringing a customer up, or something as simple as stocking shelves, George could always find Fred. It brought on a sense of peace and whenever George got too lost, Fred would find him and lead him back to safety. So he worked harder, stayed up later, chasing a dead dream.

It haunted him at night.

When morning came, he would methodically take inventory, count the register, and then lose himself in his work.

 _One Year, Two Months_

George went out every Friday to the nearest Apothecary to gather supplies for the shop. It was like clock work; every Friday at three. Not once in the past year had he once seen anyone he was too familiar with.

But there stood Hermione Granger. On a curb in the pouring, cold rain and with a dazed look upon her face. She took a step forward and he reacted quickly, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her away from witches on their brooms. He felt her take in a sharp breath and then he was staring into pools of whiskey.

He watched as her lips formed his name. A rain droplet fell on his nose and George had enough sense to invite her up for a cup of tea.

 _One Year, Four Months_

Not for the first time, and George was dead sure not for the last, Hermione impressed him. She had managed to take the pain of War and turn it into a strength that George couldn't quite name. She was stronger because of it. George was torn up inside, seeing his friend turned into something he was not. He dealt with this pain daily and yet here Hermione was, smiling that perfect smile with pink cheeks and those whiskey eyes were seeing right through him.

They decided to meet once a week and George wasn't sure he was ready for it yet. He was used to being enclosed in his study where he could watch the world go by. Now the world was shoving Hermione Granger at him and he didn't know what to do.

She lay a smooth hand on his and smiled up at him through the hair covering her face.

George swallowed. Yeah, she could definitely see through him.

 _One Year, Six Months_

It was night and George had just got back from a night out with Hermione. His feet guiding him, he turned left instead of right and stood in front of Fred's bedroom door. Grasping the key that still dangled at his neck, he lightly touched the door, jolting as it shocked him. Taking that as a sign, George sat on the floor next to the door.

It was a sign that he was a coward.

He always had a good time with Hermione. He always made her double over in laughter. He made her smile so bright people would stop and stare. They would talk about everything – about her apprenticeship in Magical Law, something that he admired but also struck fear in him. He shuddered at what Hermione could, and most likely would, do in such a powerful position! They talked about her seemingly never-ending search for her parents and how she was thinking of making it an official task for Harry and Ron.

They also talked about his parents. While George did come by the Burrow for family dinner, it wasn't very often. He hasn't spent a good deal of time with his family in over a year. But while he hasn't seen a lot of his family, he's seen a lot of Hermione. Gone was the shy bookworm that he knew, and in its place was a headstrong woman who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to get it. She even enjoyed a good joke.

Although, he supposed, that's what war does to people.

It changes people. The War molded Hermione, sculpted her into the beautiful, headstrong, fearless woman he saw today. She came out with her own scars, yes, but she learned from them. They gave her courage and she wore them with a bravery he didn't want to admit he didn't have. And well, the War took its toll on George.

George leaned his head on the wall and thought of his day with Hermione and where it had all gone wrong.

They were sitting outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, giggling over the new milk mustache George was sporting when Hermione finally noticed it.

The key.

Hermione had stopped giggling, but he hadn't. She'd reach out and touched it. Not a single syllable left her plump lips as her whiskey scorched his ocean. He had stopped laughing then. Her eyes watered and she whispered his name. His stomach had dropped and he gently held the hand grasping the key. His hands shook but he kissed Hermione on the cheek, whispered an apology and left. And here he was, sitting next to a damn door he couldn't open and wishing Hermione was there because she always knew what to say.

He bowed his head. The best thing to come into his life since Fred, and he found a way to lose her.

 _One Year, 8 Months_

She was standing on the curb right outside his shop in the rain again. Shivering, wet, still no umbrella, and looking somewhere between pissed and upset. Tears slipped down her cheeks and her hair clung to her puffy cheeks in wet strips. She was saying how much a fool she was too leave him alone when he needed someone the most and that she would never leave him alone again. He was pretty sure she said more, but George didn't care.

He stepped forward, grabbing her by the waist and pulled her into the shop. He said nothing as he kissed her. It was soft and pleasant, and something George didn't know he needed this badly. When Hermione put hands on both sides of his head and she didn't flinch at his missing ear, George was head over heels.

They made their way up the back stairs and into his small flat, eventually finding his bed. Usually George would lose himself in his work to find any resemblance of his former self, but tonight; George lost himself within the safe confines of Hermione Granger's arms. It was passionate and certain words were exchanged and somehow, George just knew he would be alright.

 _Two Years_

How they had skirted around the topic for this long, he didn't know. While Fred was always a topic in conversation, his death never was. And though Hermione stayed over frequently, she never asked about the key or the door that went with it. Until today, that is, and she couldn't have picked a better time or day, George thought.

He stared at her back as she stood in front of the door, not knowing what to do. He knew _what_ to do, but the action it required he just couldn't seem to make. He wanted this to all be over with, for the pain and fear it caused him at night to be gone. He wanted the strength that Hermione had.

In this solitary moment, George hated Hermione. For him, it was like she had everything he didn't, even a way to bring Fred back, and damn if that didn't make his eyes water and surrender. Silently, he took off the necklace for the first time and held it out for Hermione to take. She touched his cheek, wiping away a stray tear, and he nodded.

Hermione put the key in and turned. For a second George thought something had exploded in the shop – he couldn't breathe, his knees were shaking, and _no_ , he himself was shaking. He was scared, and rightfully so. There was a buzzing in his ears.

And then he was coughing.

Two years worth of dust would do that, George supposed, and he couldn't have been happier.

 _Five Years_

George lay in bed, still in his clothes from his night out with Hermione. They had planned on coming home and having a passionate night, but he guessed they were too tuckered out, if Hermione's drooling had anything to say about it. He twitched a foot, sending a cramp up his leg. He hissed in annoyance and turned over to wrap his arms around his wife. It was a Sunday, so the shop was being run by Verity and Lee today. Maybe he could rekindle some of the passion from last night before –

– his son walked in and climbed on the bed. Or tried to at least. His magic was starting to kick in and his brilliant son, whom he always said took after his mother, _floated_ onto the bed. George welcome his son with open arms and wrapped mother and son in one cuddle. George smiled into the sunburst hair of his son's and whispered his name and sentiments. Seeing his son, Fred, smile just like his mother made George the happiest person in the world.

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a/n: That's it. Some "wars" were purposefully capitalized, fyi. Again, please listen to the song as it really sets the mood for the whole fic, and without it you really can't get a good grasp of it. Please review and thanks for reading!


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